Rosas Quotes

Those who do not move, do not notice their chains.

The master is not the one who teaches; it's the one who suddenly learns.

You are what you write.

Being human means throwing your whole life on the scales of destiny when need be, all the while rejoicing in every sunny day and every beautiful cloud.

The most revolutionary thing one can do is always to proclaim loudly what is happening.

I would like to be known as a person who is concerned about freedom and equality and justice and prosperity for all people.

You must never be fearful about what you are doing when it is right.

Todos estos libros, lo noto, me están cambiando por dentro. Yo no podía imaginarme que esto de leer era como vivir.

Penderitaan yang sesungguhnya adalah ketika kamu kehilangan kepercayaan diri dan harapan. Ketika Allah tak ada dalam tujuan hidupmu

No matter how old you are now. You are never too young or too old for success or going after what you want. Here’s a short list of people who accomplished great things at different ages 1) Helen Keller, at the age of 19 months, became deaf and blind. But that didn’t stop her. She was the first deaf and blind person to earn a Bachelor of Arts degree. 2) Mozart was already competent on keyboard and violin; he composed from the age of 5. 3) Shirley Temple was 6 when she became a movie star on “Bright Eyes.” 4) Anne Frank was 12 when she wrote the diary of Anne Frank. 5) Magnus Carlsen became a chess Grandmaster at the age of 13. 6) Nadia Comăneci was a gymnast from Romania that scored seven perfect 10.0 and won three gold medals at the Olympics at age 14. 7) Tenzin Gyatso was formally recognized as the 14th Dalai Lama in November 1950, at the age of 15. 8) Pele, a soccer superstar, was 17 years old when he won the world cup in 1958 with Brazil. 9) Elvis was a superstar by age 19. 10) John Lennon was 20 years and Paul Mcartney was 18 when the Beatles had their first concert in 1961. 11) Jesse Owens was 22 when he won 4 gold medals in Berlin 1936. 12) Beethoven was a piano virtuoso by age 23 13) Issac Newton wrote Philosophiæ Naturalis Principia Mathematica at age 24 14) Roger Bannister was 25 when he broke the 4 minute mile record 15) Albert Einstein was 26 when he wrote the theory of relativity 16) Lance E. Armstrong was 27 when he won the tour de France 17) Michelangelo created two of the greatest sculptures “David” and “Pieta” by age 28 18) Alexander the Great, by age 29, had created one of the largest empires of the ancient world 19) J.K. Rowling was 30 years old when she finished the first manuscript of Harry Potter 20) Amelia Earhart was 31 years old when she became the first woman to fly solo across the Atlantic Ocean 21) Oprah was 32 when she started her talk show, which has become the highest-rated program of its kind 22) Edmund Hillary was 33 when he became the first man to reach Mount Everest 23) Martin Luther King Jr. was 34 when he wrote the speech “I Have a Dream." 24) Marie Curie was 35 years old when she got nominated for a Nobel Prize in Physics 25) The Wright brothers, Orville (32) and Wilbur (36) invented and built the world's first successful airplane and making the first controlled, powered and sustained heavier-than-air human flight 26) Vincent Van Gogh was 37 when he died virtually unknown, yet his paintings today are worth millions. 27) Neil Armstrong was 38 when he became the first man to set foot on the moon. 28) Mark Twain was 40 when he wrote "The Adventures of Tom Sawyer", and 49 years old when he wrote "Adventures of Huckleberry Finn" 29) Christopher Columbus was 41 when he discovered the Americas 30) Rosa Parks was 42 when she refused to obey the bus driver’s order to give up her seat to make room for a white passenger 31) John F. Kennedy was 43 years old when he became President of the United States 32) Henry Ford Was 45 when the Ford T came out. 33) Suzanne Collins was 46 when she wrote "The Hunger Games" 34) Charles Darwin was 50 years old when his book On the Origin of Species came out. 35) Leonardo Da Vinci was 51 years old when he painted the Mona Lisa. 36) Abraham Lincoln was 52 when he became president. 37) Ray Kroc Was 53 when he bought the McDonalds Franchise and took it to unprecedented levels. 38) Dr. Seuss was 54 when he wrote "The Cat in the Hat". 40) Chesley "Sully" Sullenberger III was 57 years old when he successfully ditched US Airways Flight 1549 in the Hudson River in 2009. All of the 155 passengers aboard the aircraft survived 41) Colonel Harland Sanders was 61 when he started the KFC Franchise 42) J.R.R Tolkien was 62 when the Lord of the Ring books came out 43) Ronald Reagan was 69 when he became President of the US 44) Jack Lalane at age 70 handcuffed, shackled, towed 70 rowboats 45) Nelson Mandela was 76 when he became President

Saepe creat molles aspera spina rosas" - "Often the prickly thorn produces tender roses

Freiheit ist immer die Freiheit des Andersdenkenden Freedom is always, and exclusively, freedom for the one who thinks differently.

Kesuksesan sejati adalah ketika kita membuat orang lain bahagia.

Make no mistake, the woman had a heart. She had a bigger one that people would think. There was a lot in it, stored up, high in miles of hidden shelving. Remember that she was the woman with the instrument strapped to her body in the long, moon-slit night.

Rosa Parks sat so Martin Luther King could walk. Martin Luther King walked so Obama could run. Obama's running so we all can fly.

La rebelión consiste en mirar una rosa hasta pulverizarse los ojos.

El verdadero dolor es indecible. Si puedes hablar de lo que te acongoja estás de suerte: eso significa que no es tan importante. Porque cuando el dolor cae sobre ti sin paliativos, lo primero que te arranca es la #Palabra.

I have learned over the years that when one's mind is made up, this diminishes fear; knowing what must be done does away with fear.

I had always imagined Rosa Parks as a stately woman with a bold temperament, someone who could easily stand up to a busload of glowering passengers. But when she died in 2005 at the age of ninety-two, the flood of obituaries recalled her as soft-spoken, sweet, and small in stature. They said she was "timid and shy" but had "the courage of a lion." They were full of phrases like "radical humility" and "quiet fortitude.

Kan sudah pernah kubilang padamu: aku tidak bisa mencintaimu dengan sederhana. Aku mencintaimu dengan semua kerumitan itu, pelik yang berkelip pelangi dari tiap rongga...

I believe we are here on the planet Earth to live, grow up and do what we can to make this world a better place for all people to enjoy freedom.

Each person must live their life as a model for others.

What presents itself to us as bourgeois legality is nothing but the violence of the ruling class, a violence raised to an obligatory norm from the outset.

Nobody can claim the name of Pedro, nobody is Rosa or María, all of us are dust or sand, all of us are rain under rain. They have spoken to me of Venezuelas, of Chiles and Paraguays; I have no idea what they are saying. I know only the skin of the earth and I know it has no name.

Cinta yang suci menempatkan ukuran fisik hanya di nomor 10 dari 10 kriteria

Sebab, apapun itu, bukankah hidup adalah untuk bergandeng tangan di jalan kebaikan dan membuat Allah tersenyum?

Tomorrow the revolution will 'rise up again, clashing its weapons,' and to your horror it will proclaim with trumpets blazing: I was, I am, I shall be!

Ketika kau masih bertemu pagi dan putuskan diri untuk berdiri menghadapi berjuang dengan hati di jalan Illahi maka saat itu kau telah mengakhiri hari dengan satu lagi kemenangan sejati

Una mirada desde la alcantarilla puede ser una visión del mundo, la rebelión consiste en mirar una rosa hasta pulverizarse los ojos.

The only tired I was, was tired of giving in.

Buku yang kau tulis adalah semacam jejak yang terus menyala di dunia, dan bisa menjadi cahaya akhiratmu.

Have you ever been hurt and the place tries to heal a bit, and you just pull the scar off of it over and over again.

Sukses adalah ketika ada setitik engkau dalam binar orang lain

I had given up my seat before, but this day, I was especially tired. Tired from my work as a seamstress, and tired from the ache in my heart.

I would like to be remembered as a person who wanted to be free... so other people would be also free.

Ketika sebuah karya selesai ditulis, maka pengarang tak mati. Ia baru saja memperpanjang umurnya lagi

Rosa que al prado, encarnada, te ostentas presuntuosa de grana y carmín bañada: campa lozana y gustosa; pero no, que siendo hermosa tambien serás desdichada.

Todos necesitamos la belleza para que la vida nos sea soportable. Lo expresó muy bien Fernando Pessoa: «La literatura, como el arte en general, es la demostración de que la vida no basta.» No basta, no. Por eso estoy redactando este libro. Por eso lo estás leyendo.

Membaca dan menulis membuatmu menjadi.

Racism is still with us. But it is up to us to prepare our children for what they have to meet, and, hopefully, we shall overcome.

Merindukan bulan yang selalu karam di matamu, aroma pinus dari hutan kenangan yang kau tanam di tubuhku...

Cinta dan memberi adalah dua kata sejati dalam kamus nurani

You see, women have been essential to every great move of God. Yes, Moses led the Isaelites out of Egypt, but only after his mother risked her life to save him! Closer to our time, Clara Barton was instrumental in starting the Red Cross. Harriet Beecher Stowe's Uncle Tom's Cabin put fire into people's heart to end slavery in the United States. Rosa Parks kicked the Civil Rights movement into gear with her quiet act of courage. Eunice Kennedy Shriver created the Special Olympics. Mother Teresa inspired the world by bringing love to countless thought unlovable. And millions of other women quietly change the world every day by bringing the love of God to those around them.

Cultivo una rosa blanca, En julio como en enero, Para el amigo sincero Que me da su mano franca. Y para el cruel que me arranca El corazon con que vivo, Cardo ni oruga cultivo Cultivo una rosa blanca. I have a white rose to tend In July as in January; I give it to the true friend Who offers his frank hand to me. And to the cruel one whose blows Break the heart by which I live, Thistle nor thorn do I give: For him, too, I have a white rose.

Para ibu selalu mempunyai tempat untuk menampung duka, lalu mengecupnya dan bangkit.

Viver - não é? - é muito perigoso. Porque ainda não se sabe. Porque aprender-a-viver é que é o viver, mesmo.

- ¿Por qué somos incapaces de reconocer a los genios?- pregunté. - Porque son diferentes. Los seres humanos normales no quieren que otros se salgan del guión. Somos una civilización de ovejitas blancas que nos seguimos unas a otras rumbo al precipicio. Y de vez en cuando surge una ovejita negra, o roja, o rosa que dice: "¡Eyyy, no es hacia allí, es para el otro lado!" Y todas las ovejitas blancas no escuchan y lo atropellan y maltratan.

Mrs. Gautier, I hear there are places online where you can sell children for a good price. Nick is still young enough, he should fetch enough to tide you over for a bit.” – Rosa

O mais importante e bonito, do mundo, é isto: que as pessoas não estão sempre iguais, ainda não foram terminadas – mas que elas vão sempre mudando. (...) Natureza da gente não cabe em nenhuma certeza.

What do you want with these special Jewish pains? I feel as close to the wretched victims of the rubber plantations in Putamayo and the blacks of Africa with whose bodies the Europeans play ball… I have no special corner in my heart for the ghetto: I am at home in the entire world, where there are clouds and birds and human tears.

1. Replace upstairs hall bathroom lightbulb. 2. Get online and research Ferragamo shoes, then email someone named Kell to see if he could convert Ferragamos into weapons. 3. Order a replacement coat for the one that was torn. (see closet for coat) Make sure it matches exactly. 4. Wash Cars. 5. Take out trash for Rosa 6. Most important, don't bitch.

Cinta adalah seberapa pandai kau menghapus airmata.

I once spoke to someone who had survived the genocide in Rwanda, and she said to me that there was now nobody left on the face of the earth, either friend or relative, who knew who she was. No one who remembered her girlhood and her early mischief and family lore; no sibling or boon companion who could tease her about that first romance; no lover or pal with whom to reminisce. All her birthdays, exam results, illnesses, friendships, kinships—gone. She went on living, but with a tabula rasa as her diary and calendar and notebook. I think of this every time I hear of the callow ambition to 'make a new start' or to be 'born again': Do those who talk this way truly wish for the slate to be wiped? Genocide means not just mass killing, to the level of extermination, but mass obliteration to the verge of extinction. You wish to have one more reflection on what it is to have been made the object of a 'clean' sweep? Try Vladimir Nabokov's microcosmic miniature story 'Signs and Symbols,' which is about angst and misery in general but also succeeds in placing it in what might be termed a starkly individual perspective. The album of the distraught family contains a faded study of Aunt Rosa, a fussy, angular, wild-eyed old lady, who had lived in a tremulous world of bad news, bankruptcies, train accidents, cancerous growths—until the Germans put her to death, together with all the people she had worried about.

Seperti apakah Anda? Menurut saya, paling tidak Anda adalah apa yang Anda tulis.

Ouça, Virgínia, é preciso amar o inútil. Criar pombos sem pensar em comê-los, plantar roseiras sem pensar em colher as rosas, escrever sem pensar em publicar, fazer coisas assim, sem esperar nada em troca. A distância mais curta entre dois pontos pode ser a linha reta, mas é nos caminhos curvos que se encontram as melhores coisas.

Crazy. It was the same word María and Tía Rosa flung at Grandpa Lázaro. The same word anyone said when they didn't understand something. "Crazy" was a way to shut people up, disregard them entirely.

Sebab musuh utama kita bukan penjajah atau bencana, tetapi ketakberdayaan yang beranak pinak dalam diri.

Order prevails in Berlin!” You foolish lackeys! Your “order” is built on sand. Tomorrow the revolution will “rise up again, clashing its weapons,” and to your horror it will proclaim with trumpets blazing: I was, I am, I shall be!

Ternyata saya tak pernah benar-benar kalah, meski mungkin belum sampai pada menang

Cuando el dolor cae sobre ti sin paliativos, lo primero que te arranca es la palabra.

No te amo como si fueras rosa de sal, topacio o flecha de claveles que propagan el fuego: te amo como se aman ciertas cosas oscuras, secretamente, entre la sombra y el alma. Te amo como la planta que no florece y lleva dentro de sí, escondida, la luz de aquellas flores, y gracias a tu amor vive oscuro en mi cuerpo el apretado aroma que ascendió de la tierra. Te amo sin saber cómo, ni cuándo, ni de dónde, te amo directamente sin problemas ni orgullo: así te amo porque no sé amar de otra manera, sino así de este modo en que no soy ni eres, tan cerca que tu mano sobre mi pecha es mía, tan cerca que cierran tus ojos con mi sueño.

El amor consiste en encontrar a alguien con quien compartir tus rarezas.

Aku ingin menjadi istrimu. Aku percaya pada apa yang kulakukan dan tak peduli bila terkesan aku yang melamarmu. Lagi pula apa salahnya meminta pria berbudi menjadi suami?

Arrest me for sitting on a bus? You may do that.

There was something unmistakably exultant about the mess that Rosa had made. Her bedroom-studio was at once the canvas, journal, museum, and midden of her life. She did not “decorate” it; she infused it.

I do not know if these hands will become Malcolm’s—raised and fisted or Martin’s—open and asking or James’s—curled around a pen. I do not know if these hands will be Rosa’s or Ruby’s gently gloved and fiercely folded calmly in a lap, on a desk, around a book, ready to change the world . . .

Buku yang baik adalah buku yang bisa membuatmu bergerak.

Dear ---, You are like that one piece of artwork in an art gallery that people spend a little longer admiring. Rosa, UK.

I want to affect people like a clap of thunder, to inflame their minds with the breadth of my vision, the strength of my conviction and the power of my expression.

Cuanto más te acercas a lo esencial, menos puedes nombrarlo.

Women's freedom is the sign of social freedom.

All I was doing was trying to get home from work.

Y es raro porque, aunque pase el tiempo, el dolor de la pérdida, cuando se pone a doler, te sigue pareciendo igual de intenso.

Saya tak tahu, berapa waktu yang tersisa untuk saya. Satu jam, satu hari, satu tahun, sepuluh, lima puluh tahun lagi? Bisakah waktu yang semakin sedikit itu saya manfaatkan untuk memberi arti keberadaan saya sebagai hamba Allah di muka bumi ini? Bisakah cinta, kebajikan, maaf dan syukur selalu tumbuh dari dalam diri, saat saya menghirup udara dari Yang Maha?

Kita perlu jatuh cinta atau patah hati untuk dapat membuat puisi yang bagus.

La felicidad es minimalista. Es sencilla y desnuda. Es una casi nada que lo es todo.

Qualquer amor já é um pouquinho de saúde, um descanso na loucura.

I feel at home in the entire world, wherever there are clouds and birds and human tears

You’re my woman. Of course I’m responsible for you. It’s my highest duty in life to take care of you, protect you. -Jason Dorsey

I was pirouette and flourish, I was filigree and flame. How could I count my blessings when I didn't know their names?

«Porque estoy cansado y estoy solo, y tú eres la única persona con la que puedo hablar sin ponerme en peligro.»

An attribute of Rosa Hubermann, she was a good woman for a crisis.

stat rosa pristina nomine, nomina nuda tenemus

É feia. Mas é uma flor. Furou o asfalto, o tédio, o nojo e o ódio.

Hidup adalah mempersembahkan yang terbaik bagi Allah dan tanah tumpah darah.

-Samo sam htela da imam nešto tvoje... Zauvek... Zumirao sam kristalnu kap u njenom lepom oku, koja je svetlucala kao titrava rosa na malenom zvončiću đurđevka. Sretan sam ja momak... Neki režiseri potroše čitav život čekajući takvu scenu, i opet ne uspeju da je snime. Hajde konju... Reci joj... Osetio sam da uglovi usana izmiču kontroli. -Želiš nešto moje? Zauvek? Da li bi prezime moglo da posluži?

Saya menulis bukan hanya untuk dunia, tetapi juga demi akhirat saya.

Anak-anak saya kelak akan tumbuh di lingkungan tertentu. Bukankah seharusnya saya juga ambil bagian dalam mempersiapkan lingkungan yang akan tumbuh bersamanya?

Sólo siendo absolutamente libre se puede bailar bien, se puede hacer bien el amor y se puede escribir bien. Actividades todas ellas importantísimas.

Pero ya digo que la recuperación no existe: no es posible volver a ser quien eras. Existe la reinvención, y no es mala cosa. Con suerte, puede que consigas reinventarte mejor que antes. A fin de cuentas, ahora sabes más.

Sorte é isto. Merecer e ter.

Y eso es lo que nuestra sociedad no maneja bien: enseguida escondemos o prohibimos tácitamente el sufrimiento.

Es una locura odiar a todas las rosas sólo porque una te pinchó. Renunciar a todos tus sueños sólo porque uno de ellos no se cumplió

O que lembro, tenho.

Fear would have told the Wright brothers not to fly. Fear would have told Rosa Parks to change seats. Fear would have told Steve Jobs that people hate touchscreens.

Islam itu indah. Islam itu cinta

Tulisan itu rekam jejak. Sekali dipublikasikan, tak akan bisa kau tarik. Tulislah hal-hal berarti yg tak akan pernah kau sesali kemudian.

Ketika bahasa tak lagi percaya pada kata apakah yang masih bisa kita ucap? : cinta Ketika wajahmu tak lagi menampakkan kening, mata, hidung dan mulut apakah yang masih bisa kukecup? : doa

Setiap hari cinta harus ditumbuhkan dengan berbagai cara. Cinta harus tumbuh menembus semua rintangan. Kuncup-kuncupnya tak boleh merekah semua seketika, untuk kemudian layu. Ranting dan pokoknya harus kuat menjulang. Cinta harus ditumbuhkan sepanjang usia dengan bunga-bunganya yang bertaburan di sepanjang jalan kesetiaan. Jalan yang ditapaki dengan riang di bumi dan semoga kelak mempertemukan kita kembali dengannya di surga

Bangunlah, Cinta. Airmatamu bercahaya di dua pertiga malam....

Kita pun akan terus merangkai kata, menjelma kalimat kalimat yang kita tanam sepenuh cinta pada semesta. Semoga tumbuh menjadi berlian kecil di hati pembaca.

I want to burden the conscience of the affluent with all the suffering and all the hidden, bitter tears.

Aqui digo: que se teme por amor; mas que, por amor, também, é que a coragem se faz.

Hoje roubei todas as rosas dos jardins e cheguei ao pé de ti de mãos vazias.

We are all trying to get over the person who broke our hearts. We are all far from perfect.

A gente quer passar um rio a nado, e passa; mas vai dar na outra banda é num ponto muito mais embaixo, bem diverso do em que primeiro se pensou. Viver nem não é muito perigoso?

Rosa Hubermann was sitting on the edge of the bed with her husband's accordion tied to her chest. Her fingers hovered above the keys. She did not move. She didn't ever appear to be breathing.

Were you raised in a barn? You don't just walk into someone's house." Ash laughed. "I have an open invitation to enter whenever I'm here." "Yeah, but what if he's naked or something?" Ash led him into the foyer. "I've known Kyrian for over two thousand years, and I can honesty say that I have never once caught him naked in his living room." The door closed behind them without Ash or Nick touching it- something that always unnerved Nick when Ash did it. "Besides, Rosa's still here. I know he's not walking around bare-assed with her on duty.

Puisi bisa menjadi semacam magnet yang melekatkan kita pada seseorang, bahkan bila kita membencinya. Puisi yang kita tak tulis tak akan perah mati, bahkan bila kita mati.

La creatividad es justamente esto: un intento alquímico de transmutar el sufrimiento en belleza. El arte en general, y la literatura en particular, son armas poderosas contra el Mal y el Dolor.

Tak mungkin ada cinta yang bertahan tanpa interaksi, yang tegar tanpa interupsi.

Rendah hati itu menghadirkan pendar sempurna yang tak pudar saat kau beranjak pergi. Mereka akan membingkainya

Morning came in through the blinds cutting everything into ribbons.

People always say that I didn't give up my seat because I was tired, but that isn't true. I was not tired physically, or no more tired than I usually was at the end of a working day. I was not old, although some people have an image of me as being old then. I was forty-two. No, the only tired I was, was tired of giving in.

Without general elections, without unrestricted freedom of press and assembly, without a free struggle of opinion, life dies out in every public institution, becomes a mere semblance of life, in which only the bureaucracy remains as the active element.

As I thought of these things, I drew aside the curtains and looked out into the darkness, and it seemed to my troubled fancy that all those little points of light filling the sky were the furnaces of innumerable divine alchemists, who labour continually, turning lead into gold, weariness into ecstasy, bodies into souls, the darkness into God; and at their perfect labour my mortality grew heavy, and I cried out, as so many dreamers and men of letters in our age have cried, for the birth of that elaborate spiritual beauty which could alone uplift souls weighted with so many dreams.

Cinta sama dengan sastra: membutuhkan apresiasi, kreasi dan ekspresi.

Bir insan erken gelen yaşlılıklarından sorumludur.

Jangan ukur sukses dari pencapaian diri sendiri, tapi dari daya dan upaya kita untuk membuat orang lain berhasil dan bahagia.

Hablo de ese dolor que es tan grande que ni siquiera parece que te nace de dentro, sino que es como si hubieras sido sepultada por un alud. Y así estás. Tan enterrada bajo esas pedregosas toneladas de pena que no puedes ni hablar.

Bir elmanın bir meyve olduğu, bir babanın baba, bir savaşın savaş olduğu, bir gerçeğin gerçek olduğu, bir yalanın yalan olduğu, bir aşkın aşk olduğu, bir bıkmanın bıkma olduğu, bir başkaldırmanın başkaldırma olduğu, bir sessizliğin bir sessizlik olduğu, bir haksızlığın bir haksızlık olduğu, bir düzenin bir düzen ve bir evliliğin bir evlilik olduğu, olacağı günler gelecekti, inanıyordu Tante Rosa.

Di antara tantangan dalam menulis adalah berpikir sebagai pencipta sekaligus pembaca pada saat bersamaan.

Plagiator sebenarnya hanyalah seorang pengecut yang ingin menjadi pengarang.

Ia akan pergi ke jalan yang paling cinta. Jalan yang tak pernah membedakan bau darah seseorang.

I call you my rose because for you, I would take all your pain so you would suffer none,” I tell her softly. “I would go through hell for you. Die for you. Do anything you asked. I love you, mia rosa. More than you will ever know.

O senhor escute meu coração, pegue no meu pulso. O senhor avista meus cabelos brancos... Viver - não é? - é muito perigoso. Porque ainda não se sabe. Porque aprender-a-viver é que é o viver, mesmo. O sertão me produz, depois me enguliu, depois me cuspiu do quente da boca... O senhor crê minha narração?

Doesn't everyone sell his soul? I tell you, sir: the devil does not exist, there is no devil, yet I sold him my soul. That is what I am afraid of. To whom did I sell it? That is what I am afraid of, my dear sir: we sell our souls, only there is no buyer.

I'm a licensed private investigator and have been for quite a while. I'm a lone wolf, unmarried, getting middle-aged, and not rich. I've been in jail more than once and I don't do divorce business. I like liquor and women and chess and a few other things. The cops don't like me too well, but I know a couple I get along with. I'm a native son, born in Santa Rosa, both parents dead, no brothers or sisters, and when I get knocked off in a dark alley sometime, if it happens, as it could to anyone in my business, nobody will feel that the bottom has dropped out of his or her life.

¿Quién no ha deseado alguna vez escapar del encierro de la propia vida? Y no porque esa vida no nos guste, sino porque una sola existencia, por muy grande y muy buena que sea, siempre será una especie de cárcel, una mutilación de las otras posibles realidades, de los otros individuos que pudimos ser.

A veces las relaciones que se cimentan en el daño son más persistentes que las que se basan en el amor.

I learned to put my trust in God and to see Him as my strength. Long ago I set my mind to be a free person and not to give in to fear. I always felt that it was my right to defend myself if I could. I have learned over the years that when one’s mind is made up, this diminishes fear; knowing what must be done does away with fear." - Rosa Parks

Dicen que la Humanidad se puede dividir entre aquellos cuya infancia fue un infierno, en cuyo caso siempre vivirán perseguidos por ese fantasma, y aquellos que disfrutraron de una niñez maravillosa, que lo tienen aún mucho peor porque perdieron para siempre el paraíso

Rosa Parks turned to me sweetly and asked, 'Now, Bryan, tell me who you are and what you're doing.' I looked at Ms. Carr to see if I had permission to speak, and she smiled and nodded at me. I then gave Ms. Parks my rap. 'Yes, ma'am. Well, I have a law project called the Equal Justice Initiative, and we're trying to help people on death row. We're trying to stop the death penalty, actually. We're trying to do something about prison conditions and excessive punishment. We want to free people who've been wrongly convicted. We want to end unfair sentences in criminal cases and stop racial bias in criminal justice...Ms. Parks leaned back smiling. 'Ooooh, honey, all that's going to make you tired, tired, tired.' We all laughed. I looked down, a little embarrassed. Then Ms. Carr leaned forward and put her finger in my face and talked o me just like my grandmother used to talk to me. She said, 'That's why you've got to be brave, brave, brave.' All three women nodded in silent agreement and for just a little while, they made me feel like a young prince.

Menulis adalah memahat peradaban.

Freedom is always the freedom of the dissenter

No one else. It was me who had to carry myself over the finish line, and all I needed to remember when I felt like not trying was that that feeling wouldn't last forever. Forever. I used to believe it didn't exist. One word has terrified me as a child and it haunted me. But now I knew, and many small ways, but it was real, But it didn't scare me anymore. Forever wasn't a little girl cowering in the closet. Forever wasn't the shadows sitting in the back of the class. Forever wasn't doing what I thought Carl and Rose wanted instead of what I needed to do with my life. Forever wasn't believing I was some kind of replacement daughter and that I was letting them down. Forever wasn't being the one who needed protection. Forever wasn't pain and grief forever wasn't a problem. Forever was my heartbeat and it was the hope tomorrow held. Forever was the glistening silver lining of the dark cloud, no matter how heavy and thick it was. Forever was knowing it moments of weakness didn't equate to an eternity of them. Forever was knowing that I was strong. Forever was Carl and Rosa, Ainsley and Kira, Hector and Rider. Jaden would always be a part of my forever. Forever was in the fire-breathing dragon inside me that had shed the fear like a snake shedding skin. Forever was simply a promise of more. Forever was a work in progress. And I couldn't wait for forever.

Salah satu yang paling saya takutkan terjadi pada diri saya adalah berprasangka buruk terhadap orang lain..., banyak menduga-duga, sehingga saya tidak produktif terhadap waktu saya dan sibuk mencari-cari keburukan orang itu, dari amal hingga kalbu-nya, wilayah yang hanya kuasa Allah semata.

- ¿Sabeis, muchachos? No creais que al morir recordareis hazañas, ni sucesos importantes que os hayan ocurrido. No creais que recordareis grandes aventuras, ni siquiera momentos felices que aún podais vivir. Solo cosas como ésta: una tarde así, unas copas de vino, esas rosas cubiertas de agua.

Untuk bisa membaca banyak buku diperlukan dua hal dimana uang dan waktu tidak termasuk diantaranya. Dua hal tersebut adalah gairah dan kerendahan hati bahwa kita banyak tak tahu.

Every abyss is navigable by little paper boats.

Kadang berbagai peristiwa, juga kenangan terasa kejam, tapi tugas pengarang adalah mengemas kisah-kisah itu dalam keterharuan, kebenaran dan keindahan yang padu...

Pembaca adalah jantung buku saya.

Kadang kita memang harus belajar hal yang berbeda dalam satu waktu: belajar untuk mencintai dan melupakan sekaligus.

Kalau usiamu tak mampu menyamai usia dunia, maka menulislah. Menulis mperpanjang ada-mu di dunia dan amalmu di akhirat kelak.

Sarhoş olunur, ama sokakta sızılmaz, âşık olunur ama sokakta yatılmaz, doyulur ama sokakta sıçılmaz, sokak gelip geçmek içindir...

Setiap saat aku bisa belajar untuk mencintai ia yang sungguh-sungguh mencintaiku lewat kebaikannya, lewat keindahan yang disampaikan banyak orang tentangnya dan ketaksempurnaan yang menjadikannya manusia.

Parece instintivamente que la felicidad está por venir. Que la palabra felicidad remite al futuro. Pero remite realmente a un pasado remoto, del que la extrapolamos al futuro remoto con un movimiento mecánico de autodefensa. Se ha dicho que la literatura de ciencia ficción está llena de añoranzas prehistóricas. Eso es. Sólo se puede soñar el pasado. El futuro es un pasado actuante. Un pasado que actúa como futuro. Confío en que seré feliz porque alguna vez lo fui. Y creo que alguna vez lo fui porque entonces, aquella vez, creía asimismo haberlo sido en otro tiempo. Todo instante de felicidad no es sino la confirmación de que tenemos un pasado. Sólo la memoria goza.

«—Te amo —susurró y me besó la frente—. Con espinas y todo.»

Setiap saat adalah masa untuk mencintai.

Saat menulis karya sastra, kita bisa menjelma siapapun yang kita inginkan, mencipta, membalik keadaan, membuatnya sesuka kita.

Merasa diabaikan? Mengapa marah dan resah? Yang perlu kau lakukan hanya terus bersinar, hingga ia tak bisa tak melihat kilau itu.

O amor só mente para dizer maior verdade.

Menulis itu sebenarnya sama dengan berbicara, hanya saja itu kau catat.

Menulis dan bercahayalah!

Kau hanyalah bayangan yang menarikan tari kebajikan untukku. Memahatkan senyap yang menggigil dalam kalbu.

The devil lives in our mistakes, the lord lives in our rights. Who lives in our ignorance, and who wins after all?

Realita? Aku meragukan realitaku sendiri. Yang mana realitas itu sebenarnya? Mungkin bagiku mimpi dan fiksi itulah realita sejati, sedang hidup yang kata mereka kujalani hanyalah mimpi, cerpen bahkan novel yang belum selesai.

en algún lugar al que nunca he viajado, gozosamente más allá de cualquier experiencia, tus ojos tienen su silencio: en tu gesto más frágil hay cosas que me abarcan, o que no puedo tocar porque están demasiado cerca tu mirada más leve me abrirá fácilmente aunque me haya cerrado como dedos, siempre me abres pétalo tras pétalo como la Primavera abre (tocando hábilmente, misteriosamente) su primera rosa o si tu deseo fuera cerrarme, yo y mi vida nos cerraremos muy bellamente, súbitamente, como cuando el corazón de esta flor imagina la nieve cayendo cuidadosa por doquier; nada que hayamos de percibir en este mundo iguala la fuerza de tu intensa fragilidad: cuya textura me domina con el color de sus campos, trayendo muerte y eternidad con cada respiro (yo no sé qué hay en ti que puede cerrar y abrir; apenas algo en mí comprende que la voz de tus ojos es más profunda que todas las rosas) nadie, ni siquiera la lluvia, tiene manos tan pequeñas

You learn to forgive (the South) for its narrow mind and growing pains because it has a huge heart. You forgive the stifling summers because the spring is lush and pastel sprinkled, because winter is merciful and brief, because corn bread and sweet tea and fried chicken are every bit as vital to a Sunday as getting dressed up for church, and because any southerner worth their salt says please and thank you. It's soft air and summer vines, pine woods and fat homegrown tomatoes. It's pulling the fruit right off a peach tree and letting the juice run down your chin. It's a closeted and profound appreciation for our neighbors in Alabama who bear the brunt of the Bubba jokes. The South gets in your blood and nose and skin bone-deep. I am less a part of the South than it is part of me. It's a romantic notion, being overcome by geography. But we are all a little starry-eyed down here. We're Rhett Butler and Scarlett O'Hara and Rosa Parks all at once.

Kau hampir tak pernah menghubungiku via ponsel, tapi setiap saat aku selalu saja melihat ponsel itu berkali-kali. Berharap ia berbunyi dan namamu yang tertera di sana. Lalu dengan agak menggigil aku berusaha melawan keinginanku sendiri, menyusun rencana-rencana tak selesai... untuk menjawab sapamu sedingin mungkin. Tapi tak ada bunyi. Tak. Kemudian pandanganku beralih pada blackberry dan lagi-lagi berharap kau pecahkan resah dalam sekali bip, padahal kau tak ada dalam kontak-ku. Maka bersama angin aku menggiring jeri, menyekap batin sendiri, memilin-milinnya menjadi puisi yang paling setia pada sunyi.

I was dancing with an immortal august woman, who had black lilies in her hair, and her dreamy gesture seemed laden with a wisdom more profound than the darkness that is between star and star, and with a love like the love that breathed upon the waters; and as we danced on and on, the incense drifted over us and round us, covering us away as in the heart of the world, and ages seemed to pass, and tempests to awake and perish in the folds of our robes and in her heavy hair. Suddenly I remembered that her eyelids had never quivered, and that her lilies had not dropped a black petal, or shaken from their places, and understood with a great horror that I danced with one who was more or less than human, and who was drinking up my soul as an ox drinks up a wayside pool; and I fell, and darkness passed over me.

Todas necesitamos de alguien que nos diga: ninguna de tus cicatrices me hace amarte menos.

Danach folgte eine Haarbürste. »Für Mädchen«, sagte er. »Pink mit Glitter.« »Du kennst mich so gut.«

Tulus adalah: aku bahagia bila teman-temanku berhasil, sukses, mulia. Dan aku turut pedih bila mereka bersedih...

Menulis itu mudah. Tapi bagaimana agar tiap huruf berarti dan bisa membuat pembacamu bergerak ke arah yg lebih baik, tanpa kau gurui.

Menulislah dengan wawasan dan hati, agar bisa mencerdaskan dan sampai ke hati-hati yang lainnya.

Nah

And in the darkness I smile at life, as if I were the possessor of charm which would enable me to transform all that is evil and tragical into serenity and happiness. But when I search my mind for the cause of this joy, I find there is no cause, and can only laugh at myself.

Todos estão loucos, neste mundo? Porque a cabeça da gente é uma só, e as coisas que há e que estão para haver são demais de muitas, muito maiores diferentes, e a gente tem de necessitar de aumentar a cabeça, para o total. Todos os sucedidos acontecendo, o sentir forte da gente — o que produz os ventos. Só se pode viver perto de outro, e conhecer outra pessoa, sem perigo de ódio, se a gente tem amor.

Dan aku tak akan menyerah di jalan kebaikan. Tidak sekarang, tidak kapan pun.

Tingkat peradaban suatu bangsa diantaranya diukur dari berapa banyak orang yang membaca dan menulis di negeri itu.

Porque la característica esencial de lo que llamamos locura es la soledad, pero una soledad monumental. Una soledad tan grande que no cabe dentro de la palabra soledad y que uno no puede ni llegar a imaginar si no ha estado ahí. Es sentir que te has desconectado del mundo, que no te van a poder entender, que no tienes #Palabras para expresarte. Es como hablar un lenguaje que nadie más conoce. Es ser un astronauta flotando a la deriva en la vastedad negra y vacía del espacio exterior. De ese tamaño de soledad estoy hablando. Y resulta que en el verdadero dolor, en el dolor-alud, sucede algo semejante. Aunque la sensación de desconexión no sea tan extrema, tampoco puedes compartir ni explicar tu sufrimiento. Ya lo dice la sabiduría popular: Fulanito se volvió loco de dolor. La pena aguda es una enajenación. Te callas y te encierras.

Freedom only for the members of the government, only for the members of the Party – though they are quite numerous – is no freedom at all. Freedom is always the freedom of the one who thinks differently. Not because of any fanatical concept of justice, but because all that is instructive, wholesome and purifying in political freedom depends on this essential characteristic, and its effectiveness vanishes when ‘freedom’ becomes a special privilege.

Conforta-me pensar que a vida não começa nem acaba aqui. Um dia regressaremos ao lugar de onde viemos, um lugar de repouso e de paz, um lugar livre de mágoas. Mas quantos lugares de dor teremos de atravessar para alcançá-lo? Quanta tristeza, quanto sofrimento, quanta crueldade no destino do Homem! E se o mundo é repleto de maravilhas é só para não perdermos de vista a morada original, que nos aguarda ao fim dos nossos doze trabalhos de Hércules, e a que os poetas e os místicos chamam paraíso e eu chamo, simplesmente, amor. As guerras fazem-se para alcançar a paz, ensinaram-nos durante séculos. (...)O sofrimento serve para alcançar a bem-aventurança, invento eu, para não morrer de desespero.

a menudo oculto riéndome mi absoluta falta de alegría. Es algo que aprendí a hacer cuando me di cuenta de que las criaturas que lo viven todo tan intensamente como yo y no son capaces de cambiar esta característica de su naturaleza, tienen que disimularla lo mejor posible.»

Não te amo como se fosse rosa de sal,topázio ou flecha de cravos que propagam o fogo: te amo como se amam certas coisas obscuras, secretamente,entre a sombra e a alma. Te amo como a planta que não floresce e leva dentro de si,oculta, a luz daquelas flores, e graças a teu amor vive escuro em meu corpo o apertado aroma que ascendeu da terra. Te amo sem saber como,nem quando,nem onde, te amo diretamente sem problemas nem orgulho: assim te amo porque não sei amar de outra maneira, senão assim deste modo em que eu não sou nem és tão perto que tua mão sobre meu peito é minha tão perto que se fecham meus olhos com meu sonho.

Men like Caesar and Pompey--they're not heroes, Meto. They're monsters. They call their greed and ambition "honour," and to satisfy their so-called honour they'll tear the world apart. But who am I to judge them? Every man does what he must, to protect his share of the world. What's the difference between killing whole villages and armies, and killing a single man? Caesar's reasons and mine are different only in degree. The consequences and the suffering still spread to the innocent (Gordianus the Finder to his son Meto)

Beberapakali aku menemukan mimpiku sendiri terjerembab di depan pintu. Kuyup oleh hujan. Seperti pakaian kotor berulangkali kucuci dan kujemur di halaman luas. Pada saat saat seperti itu aku selalu ingat wajah dan matamu saat menatapku; selalu teduh dan meneguhkan. Maka aku yakin pada akhirnya jarak hanya memisahkan raga. Tapi ia tak pernah sanggup menjauhkan mimpi, imaji dan kenangan yang kita semat bersama dalam rindu yang paling diam.

Hey, I’m cute, too,” Dex protested as they followed Ash and Cael to the bullpen. “Why don’t I get a free drink?” Ash flipped him off, calling out over his shoulder,“You’re not cute, Daley.” “Screw you. I’m fucking adorable!” Sloane leaned into Dex, whispering. “I think you’re cute.” Dex smiled at him and batted his lashes. “Do I get a free drink?” “No.” “Damn.” Dex craned his neck and waved his arms. “Hey, Rosa! I have to ask you something.” He ran off and Sloane chuckled, hearing Dex calling out after her. “Where are you going? I want to ask you if you think I’m cute. You do, right? Rosa?

Às vezes, a maior prova de amor que podemos nos dar é justamente abrir mão de algo que gostamos e desejamos muito se não estamos preparados para lidar com aquilo. E era assim que eu me sentia. A vida não se resumia a encontrar alguém que vá nos querer acima de tudo ou perder alguém que amamos muito. A gente não podia nem devia se envolver com uma pessoa sem antes estar bem com nós mesmas. Com nosso corpo, nossa mente, nossa essência. Aprendi que amor-próprio não era o mar de rosas que os filmes contam, mas é necessário, mesmo sem todo aquele glamour. Só ele pode te salvar dos seus pensamentos mais sombrios.

Dunque, pare che alle anime viventi possano toccare due sorti: c'è chi nasce ape, e chi nasce rosa... Che fa lo sciame delle api, con la sua regina? Va, e ruba a tutte le rose un poco di miele, per portarselo nell'arnia, nelle sue stanzette. E la rosa? La rosa l'ha in se stessa, il proprio miele: miele di rose, il più adorato, il più prezioso! La cosa più dolce che innamora essa l'ha già in se stessa: non le serve cercarla altrove. Ma qualche volta sospirano di solitudine, le rose, questi esseri divini! Le rose ignoranti non capiscono i propri misteri. La prima di tutte le rose è Dio. Fra le due: la rosa e l'ape, secondo me, la più fortunata è l'ape. E l'Ape Regina, poi, ha una fortuna sovrana! Io, per esempio, sono nato Ape Regina. E tu, Wilhelm? Secondo me, tu, Wilhelm mio, sei nato col destino più dolce e col destino più amaro: tu sei l'ape e sei la rosa.

During the night two delegates of the railwaymen were arrested. The strikers immediately demanded their release, and as this was not conceded, they decided not to allow trains leave the town. At the station all the strikers with their wives and families sat down on the railway track-a sea of human beings. They were threatened with rifles salvoes. The workers bared their breast and cried, "Shoot!" A salvo was fired into the defenceless seated crowd, and 30 to 40 corpses, among them women and children, remained on the ground. On this becoming known the whole town of Kiev went to strike on the same day. The corpses of the murdered workers were raised on high by the crowd and carried round in mass demonstration.

People who pronounce themselves in favor of the method of legislative reform in place of and in contradistinction to the conquest of political power and social revolution, do not really choose a more tranquil, calmer and slower road to the same goal, but a different goal. Instead of taking a stand for the establishment of a new society they take a stand for surface modifications of the old society. . . . Our program becomes not the realization of Socialism, but the reform of capitalism; not the suppression of the system of wage labor, but the diminution of exploitation, that is, the suppression of the abuses of capitalism instead of the suppression of capitalism itself.

What would she be saying if she did? That she did want to marry him? For ten years, at least, since she was twelve or thirteen, Rosa had been declaring roundly to anyone who asked that she had no intention of getting married, ever, and that if she ever did, it would be when she was old and tired of life. When this declaration in its various forms had ceased to shock people sufficiently, she had taken to adding that the man she finally married would be no older than twenty-five. But lately she had been starting to experience strong, inarticulate feelings of longing, of a desire to be with Joe all the time, to inhabit his life and allow him to inhabit hers, to engage with him in some kind of joint enterprise, in a collaboration that would be their lives. She didn't suppose they needed to get married to do that, and she knew that she certainly ought to not want to. But did she?

I had fallen into a profound dream-like reverie in which I heard him speaking as at a distance. 'And yet there is no one who communes with only one god,' he was saying, 'and the more a man lives in imagination and in a refined understanding, the more gods does he meet with and talk with, and the more does he come under the power of Roland, who sounded in the Valley of Roncesvalles the last trumpet of the body's will and pleasure; and of Hamlet, who saw them perishing away, and sighed; and of Faust, who looked for them up and down the world and could not find them; and under the power of all those countless divinities who have taken upon themselves spiritual bodies in the minds of the modern poets and romance writers, and under the power of the old divinities, who since the Renaissance have won everything of their ancient worship except the sacrifice of birds and fishes, the fragrance of garlands and the smoke of incense. The many think humanity made these divinities, and that it can unmake them again; but we who have seen them pass in rattling harness, and in soft robes, and heard them speak with articulate voices while we lay in deathlike trance, know that they are always making and unmaking humanity, which is indeed but the trembling of their lips.

que a gente carece de fingir às vezes que raiva tem, mas raiva mesma nunca se deve de tolerar de ter. Porque, quando se curte raiva de alguém, é a mesma coisa que se autorizar que essa própria pessoa passe durante o tempo governando a ideia e o sentir da gente; o que isso era falta de soberania, e farta bobice, e fato é.

Her face was severe but smiling. "What the hell did you do with my hairbrush, you stupid Saumensch, you little thief?...The tirade went on for perhaps another minute, with Liesel making a desperate suggestion or two about the possible location of the said brush. It ended abruptly, with Rosa pulling Liesel close, just for a few seconds. Her whisper was almost impossible to hear, even at such close proximity. "You told me to yell at you. You said they'd all believe it." She looked left and right, her voice like needle and thread. "He woke up, Liesel. He's awake." From her pocket, she pulled out the toy soldier with the scratched exterior. "He said to give you this. It was his favorite." ...Before Liesel had a chance to answer, she finished it off. "Well? Answer me! Do you have any other idea where you might have left it?

In that case the current orthodoxy happens to be challenged, and so the principle of free speech lapses. Now, when one demands liberty of speech and of the press, one is not demanding absolute liberty. There always must be, or at any rate there always will be, some degree of censorship, so long as organised societies endure. But freedom, as Rosa Luxembourg [sic] said, is ‘freedom for the other fellow’. The same principle is contained in the famous words of Voltaire: ‘I detest what you say; I will defend to the death your right to say it.’ If the intellectual liberty which without a doubt has been one of the distinguishing marks of western civilisation means anything at all, it means that everyone shall have the right to say and to print what he believes to be the truth, provided only that it does not harm the rest of the community in some quite unmistakable way.

She struggled in thought to discover why it was she felt that these people did not read books and that she herself did. She felt that she could look at the end, and read here and there a little and know; know something, something they did not know. People thought it was silly, almost wrong to look at the end of a book. But if it spoilt a book, there was something wrong about the book. If it was finished and the interest gone when you know who married who, what was the good of reading at all? It was a sort of trick, a sell. Like a puzzle that was no more fun when you had found it out. There was something more in books than that. . even Rosa Nouchette Carey and Mrs. Hungerford, something that came to you out of the book, any bit of it, a page, even a sentence - and the "stronger" the author was the more came.

The American really loves nothing but his automobile: not his wife his child nor his country nor even his bank-account first (in fact he doesn't really love that bank-account nearly as much as foreigners like to think because he will spend almost any or all of it for almost anything provided it is valueless enough) but his motor-car. Because the automobile has become our national sex symbol. We cannot really enjoy anything unless we can go up an alley for it. Yet our whole background and raising and training forbids the sub rosa and surreptitious. So we have to divorce our wife today in order to remove from our mistress the odium of mistress in order to divorce our wife tomorrow in order to remove from our mistress and so on. As a result of which the American woman has become cold and and undersexed; she has projected her libido on to the automobile not only because its glitter and gadgets and mobility pander to her vanity and incapacity (because of the dress decreed upon her by the national retailers association) to walk but because it will not maul her and tousle her, get her all sweaty and disarranged. So in order to capture and master anything at all of her anymore the American man has got to make that car his own. Which is why let him live in a rented rathole though he must he will not only own one but renew it each year in pristine virginity, lending it to no one, letting no other hand ever know the last secret forever chaste forever wanton intimacy of its pedals and levers, having nowhere to go in it himself and even if he did he would not go where scratch or blemish might deface it, spending all Sunday morning washing and polishing and waxing it because in doing that he is caressing the body of the woman who has long since now denied him her bed.

{Yogananda on the death of his dear friend, the eminent 20th century scientist, Luther Burbank} His heart was fathomlessly deep, long acquainted with humility, patience, sacrifice. His little home amid the roses was austerely simple; he knew the worthlessness of luxury, the joy of few possessions. The modesty with which he wore his scientific fame repeatedly reminded me of the trees that bend low with the burden of ripening fruits; it is the barren tree that lifts its head high in an empty boast. I was in New York when, in 1926, my dear friend passed away. In tears I thought, 'Oh, I would gladly walk all the way from here to Santa Rosa for one more glimpse of him!' Locking myself away from secretaries and visitors, I spent the next twenty-four hours in seclusion... His name has now passed into the heritage of common speech. Listing 'burbank' as a transitive verb, Webster's New International Dictionary defines it: 'To cross or graft (a plant). Hence, figuratively, to improve (anything, as a process or institution) by selecting good features and rejecting bad, or by adding good features.' 'Beloved Burbank,' I cried after reading the definition, 'your very name is now a synonym for goodness!

Un cronopio va a abrir la puerta de la calle, y al meter la mano en el bolsillo para sacar la llave lo que saca es una caja de fósforos, entonces este cronopio se aflige mucho y empieza a pensar que si en vez de llave encuentra fósforos, sería horrible que el mundo se hubiera desplazado de golpe, y a lo mejor si los fósforos están donde la llave, puede suceder que encuentre la billetera llena de fósforos, y la azucarera llena de dinero, y el piano lleno de azúcar, y la guía del teléfono llena de música, y el ropero lleno de abonados, y la cama llena de trajes, y los floreros llenos de sábanas, y los tranvías llenos de rosas, y los campos llenos de tranvías. Así que este cronopio se aflige horriblemente y corre a mirarse al espejo, pero como el espejo está algo ladeado lo que ve es el paragüero del zaguán, y sus presunciones se confirman y estalla en sollozos, cae de rodillas y junta sus manecitas no sabe para qué. Los famas vecinos acuden a consolarlo, y también las esperanzas, pero pasan horas antes de que el cronopio salga de su desesperación y acepte una taza de té, que mira y examina mucho antes de beber, no vaya a ser que en vez de una taza de té sea un hormiguero o un libro de Samuel Smiles.

Should I, too, prefer the title of 'non-Jewish Jew'? For some time, I would have identified myself strongly with the attitude expressed by Rosa Luxemburg, writing from prison in 1917 to her anguished friend Mathilde Wurm: What do you want with these special Jewish pains? I feel as close to the wretched victims of the rubber plantations in Putamayo and the blacks of Africa with whose bodies the Europeans play ball… I have no special corner in my heart for the ghetto: I am at home in the entire world, where there are clouds and birds and human tears. An inordinate proportion of the Marxists I have known would probably have formulated their own views in much the same way. It was almost a point of honor not to engage in 'thinking with the blood,' to borrow a notable phrase from D.H. Lawrence, and to immerse Jewishness in other and wider struggles. Indeed, the old canard about 'rootless cosmopolitanism' finds a perverse sort of endorsement in Jewish internationalism: the more emphatically somebody stresses that sort of rhetoric about the suffering of others, the more likely I would be to assume that the speaker was a Jew. Does this mean that I think there are Jewish 'characteristics'? Yes, I think it must mean that.

I couldn’t articulate how the name made me feel. Shawn had meant it to humiliate me, to lock me in time, into an old idea of myself. But far from fixing me in place, that word transported me. Every time he said it—“Hey Nigger, raise the boom” or “Fetch me a level, Nigger”—I returned to the university, to that auditorium, where I had watched human history unfold and wondered at my place in it. The stories of Emmett Till, Rosa Parks and Martin Luther King were called to my mind every time Shawn shouted, “Nigger, move to the next row.” I saw their faces superimposed on every purlin Shawn welded into place that summer, so that by the end of it, I had finally begun to grasp something that should have been immediately apparent: that someone had opposed the great march toward equality; someone had been the person from whom freedom had to be wrested. I did not think of my brother as that person; I doubt I will ever think of him that way. But something had shifted nonetheless. I had started on a path of awareness, had perceived something elemental about my brother, my father, myself. I had discerned the ways in which we had been sculpted by a tradition given to us by others, a tradition of which we were either willfully or accidentally ignorant. I had begun to understand that we had lent our voices to a discourse whose sole purpose was to dehumanize and brutalize others—because nurturing that discourse was easier, because retaining power always feels like the way forward.

No sois en absoluto parecidas a mi rosa, no sois nada aún —les dijo—. Nadie os ha domesticado y no habéis domesticado a nadie. Sois como mi zorro. No era más que un zorro semejante a cien mil otros. Pero yo lo hice mi amigo y ahora es único en el mundo… Y las rosas se sintieron bien molestas. —Sois bellas, pero estáis vacías —les dijo todavía—. No se puede morir por vosotras. Sin duda que un transeúnte común creerá que mi rosa se os parece. Pero ella sola es más importante que todas vosotras, puesto que es ella la rosa a quien he regado. Puesto que es ella la rosa a quien puse bajo un globo. Puesto que es ella la rosa a quien abrigué con el biombo. Puesto que es ella la rosa cuyas orugas maté (salvo las dos o tres que se hicieron mariposas). Puesto que es ella la rosa a quien escuché quejarse, o alabarse, o aun, algunas veces, callarse. Puesto que ella es mi rosa. Y volvió hacia el zorro: —Adiós —dijo. —Adiós —dijo el zorro—. He aquí mi secreto. Es muy simple: no se ve bien sino con el corazón. Lo esencial es invisible a los ojos. —Lo esencial es invisible a los ojos —repitió el principito, al fin de acordarse. —El tiempo que perdiste por tu rosa hace que tu rosa sea tan importante. —El tiempo que perdí por mi rosa… —dijo el principito, a fin de acordarse. —Los hombres han olvidado esta verdad —dijo el zorro—. Pero tú no debes olvidarla. Eres responsable para siempre de lo que has domesticado. Eres responsable de tu rosa… —Soy responsable de mi rosa… —repitió el principito, a fin de acordarse.

... WHEN ONE LOOKS INTO THE DARKNESS THERE IS ALWAYS SOMETHING THERE... Far-off, most secret, and inviolate Rose, Enfold me in my hour of hours; where those Who sought thee in the Holy Sepulchre, Or in the wine-vat, dwell beyond the stir And tumult of defeated dreams; and deep Among pale eyelids, heavy with the sleep Men have named beauty. Thy great leaves enfold The ancient beards, the helms of ruby and gold Of the crowned Magi; and the king whose eyes Saw the pierced Hands and Rood of elder rise In Druid vapour and make the torches dim; Till vain frenzy awoke and he died; and him Who met Fand walking among flaming dew By a grey shore where the wind never blew, And lost the world and Emer for a kiss; And him who drove the gods out of their liss, And till a hundred morns had flowered red Feasted, and wept the barrows of his dead; And the proud dreaming king who flung the crown And sorrow away, and calling bard and clown Dwelt among wine-stained wanderers in deep woods: And him who sold tillage, and house, and goods, And sought through lands and islands numberless years, Until he found, with laughter and with tears, A woman of so shining loveliness That men threshed corn at midnight by a tress, A little stolen tress. I, too, await The hour of thy great wind of love and hate. When shall the stars be blown about the sky, Like the sparks blown out of a smithy, and die? Surely thine hour has come, thy great wind blows, Far-off, most secret, and inviolate Rose? Out of sight is out of mind: Long have man and woman-kind, Heavy of will and light of mood, Taken away our wheaten food, Taken away our Altar stone; Hail and rain and thunder alone, And red hearts we turn to grey, Are true till time gutter away. ... the common people are always ready to blame the beautiful.

But the more significant factor is that one can easily remain free of even the most intense political oppression simply by placing one’s faith and trust in institutions of authority. People who get themselves to be satisfied with the behavior of their institutions of power, or who at least largely acquiesce to the Plegitimacy of prevailing authority, are almost never subjected to any oppression, even in the worst of tyrannies. Why would they be? Oppression is designed to compel obedience and submission to authority. Those who voluntarily put themselves in that state – by believing that their institutions of authority are just and good and should be followed rather than subverted – render oppression redundant, unnecessary. Of course people who think and behave this way encounter no oppression. That’s their reward for good, submissive behavior. As Rosa Luxemburg put this: “Those who do not move, do not notice their chains.” They are left alone by institutions of power because they comport with the desired behavior of complacency and obedience without further compulsion. But the fact that good, obedient citizens do not themselves perceive oppression does not mean that oppression does not exist. Whether a society is free is determined not by the treatment of its complacent, acquiescent citizens – such people are always unmolested by authority – but rather by the treatment of its dissidents and its marginalized minorities.

My birth certificate says: Female Negro Mother: Mary Anne Irby, 22, Negro Father: Jack Austin Woodson, 25, Negro In Birmingham, Alabama, Martin Luther King Jr. is planning a march on Washington, where John F. Kennedy is president. In Harlem, Malcolm X is standing on a soapbox talking about a revolution. Outside the window of University Hospital, snow is slowly falling. So much already covers this vast Ohio ground. In Montgomery, only seven years have passed since Rosa Parks refused to give up her seat on a city bus. I am born brown-skinned, black-haired and wide-eyed. I am born Negro here and Colored there and somewhere else, the Freedom Singers have linked arms, their protests rising into song: Deep in my heart, I do believe that we shall overcome someday. and somewhere else, James Baldwin is writing about injustice, each novel, each essay, changing the world. I do not yet know who I’ll be what I’ll say how I’ll say it . . . Not even three years have passed since a brown girl named Ruby Bridges walked into an all-white school. Armed guards surrounded her while hundreds of white people spat and called her names. She was six years old. I do not know if I’ll be strong like Ruby. I do not know what the world will look like when I am finally able to walk, speak, write . . . Another Buckeye! the nurse says to my mother. Already, I am being named for this place. Ohio. The Buckeye State. My fingers curl into fists, automatically This is the way, my mother said, of every baby’s hand. I do not know if these hands will become Malcolm’s—raised and fisted or Martin’s—open and asking or James’s—curled around a pen. I do not know if these hands will be Rosa’s or Ruby’s gently gloved and fiercely folded calmly in a lap, on a desk, around a book, ready to change the world . . .

Besos Hay besos que pronuncian por sí solos la sentencia de amor condenatoria, hay besos que se dan con la mirada hay besos que se dan con la memoria. Hay besos silenciosos, besos nobles hay besos enigmáticos, sinceros hay besos que se dan sólo las almas hay besos por prohibidos, verdaderos. Hay besos que calcinan y que hieren, hay besos que arrebatan los sentidos, hay besos misteriosos que han dejado mil sueños errantes y perdidos. Hay besos problemáticos que encierran una clave que nadie ha descifrado, hay besos que engendran la tragedia cuantas rosas en broche han deshojado. Hay besos perfumados, besos tibios que palpitan en íntimos anhelos, hay besos que en los labios dejan huellas como un campo de sol entre dos hielos. Hay besos que parecen azucenas por sublimes, ingenuos y por puros, hay besos traicioneros y cobardes, hay besos maldecidos y perjuros. Judas besa a Jesús y deja impresa en su rostro de Dios, la felonía, mientras la Magdalena con sus besos fortifica piadosa su agonía. Desde entonces en los besos palpita el amor, la traición y los dolores, en las bodas humanas se parecen a la brisa que juega con las flores. Hay besos que producen desvaríos de amorosa pasión ardiente y loca, tú los conoces bien son besos míos inventados por mí, para tu boca. Besos de llama que en rastro impreso llevan los surcos de un amor vedado, besos de tempestad, salvajes besos que solo nuestros labios han probado. ¿Te acuerdas del primero...? Indefinible; cubrió tu faz de cárdenos sonrojos y en los espasmos de emoción terrible, llenáronse de lágrimas tus ojos. ¿Te acuerdas que una tarde en loco exceso te vi celoso imaginando agravios, te suspendí en mis brazos... vibró un beso, y qué viste después...? Sangre en mis labios. Yo te enseñé a besar: los besos fríos son de impasible corazón de roca, yo te enseñé a besar con besos míos inventados por mí, para tu boca. Este maravilloso poema de Gabriela Mistral, nos describe de una manera muy simple y sentida, una de las grandes expresiones de amor o quizas las principal. Me he tomado el trabajo de narrarlo, asumiendo el riesgo de no ser capaz de transmitir la verdadera intensidad o altura que tienen las palabras de esta destacada artista de las letras. Lucila de María Godoy Alcayaga, conocida como Gabriela Mistral. Nacida en Vicuña, Chile el 7 de abril de 1889 y fallecida Nueva York, el 10 de enero de 1957, Poetisa, diplomática, y pedagoga. Gabriela Mistral, una de las principales figuras de la literatura chilena y latinoamericana, fue la primera persona de América Latina en ganar el Premio Nobel de Literatura,2 que recibió en 1945.

Porque posee usted la más maravillosa juventud, y la juventud es lo más precioso que se puede poseer. –No lo siento yo así, lord Henry. –No; no lo siente ahora. Pero algún día, cuando sea viejo y feo y esté lleno de arrugas, cuando los pensamientos le hayan marcado la frente con sus pliegues y la pasión le haya quemado los labios con sus odiosas brasas, lo sentirá, y lo sentirá terriblemente. Ahora, dondequiera que vaya, seduce a todo el mundo. ¿Será siempre así?… Posee usted un rostro extraordinariamente agraciado, señor Gray. No frunza el ceño. Es cierto. Y la belleza es una manifestación de genio; está incluso por encima del genio, puesto que no necesita explicación. Es uno de los grandes dones de la naturaleza, como la luz del sol, o la primavera, o el reflejo en aguas oscuras de esa concha de plata a la que llamamos luna. No admite discusión. Tiene un derecho divino de soberanía. Convierte en príncipes a quienes la poseen. ¿Se sonríe? ¡Ah! Cuando la haya perdido no sonreirá… La gente dice a veces que la belleza es sólo superficial. Tal vez. Pero, al menos, no es tan superficial como el pensamiento. Para mí la belleza es la maravilla de las maravillas. Tan sólo las personas superficiales no juzgan por las apariencias. El verdadero misterio del mundo es lo visible, no lo que no se ve… Sí, señor Gray, los dioses han sido buenos con usted. Pero lo que los dioses dan, también lo quitan, y muy pronto. Sólo dispone de unos pocos años en los que vivir de verdad, perfectamente y con plenitud. Cuando se le acabe la juventud desaparecerá la belleza, y entonces descubrirá de repente que ya no le quedan más triunfos, o habrá de contentarse con unos triunfos insignificantes que el recuerdo de su pasado esplendor hará más amargos que las derrotas. Cada mes que expira lo acerca un poco más a algo terrible. El tiempo tiene celos de usted, y lucha contra sus lirios y sus rosas. Se volverá cetrino, se le hundirán las mejillas y sus ojos perderán el brillo. Sufrirá horriblemente… ¡Ah! Disfrute plenamente de la juventud mientras la posee. No despilfarre el oro de sus días escuchando a gente aburrida, tratando de redimir a los fracasados sin esperanza, ni entregando su vida a los ignorantes, los anodinos y los vulgares. Ésos son los objetivos enfermizos, las falsas ideas de nuestra época. ¡Viva! ¡Viva la vida maravillosa que le pertenece! No deje que nada se pierda. Esté siempre a la busca de nuevas sensaciones. No tenga miedo de nada… Un nuevo hedonismo: eso es lo que nuestro siglo necesita. Usted puede ser su símbolo visible. Dada su personalidad, no hay nada que no pueda hacer. El mundo le pertenece durante una temporada… En el momento en que lo he visto he comprendido que no se daba usted cuenta en absoluto de lo que realmente es, de lo que realmente puede ser. Había en usted tantas cosas que me encantaban que he sentido la necesidad de hablarle un poco de usted. He pensado en la tragedia que sería malgastar lo que posee. Porque su juventud no durará mucho, demasiado poco, a decir verdad. Las flores sencillas del campo se marchitan, pero florecen de nuevo. Las flores del codeso serán tan amarillas el próximo junio como ahora. Dentro de un mes habrá estrellas moradas en las clemátides y, año tras año, la verde noche de sus hojas sostendrá sus flores moradas. Pero nosotros nunca recuperamos nuestra juventud. El pulso alegre que late en nosotros cuando tenemos veinte años se vuelve perezoso con el paso del tiempo. Nos fallan las extremidades, nuestros sentidos se deterioran. Nos convertimos en espantosas marionetas, obsesionados por el recuerdo de las pasiones que nos asustaron en demasía, y el de las exquisitas tentaciones a las que no tuvimos el valor de sucumbir. ¡Juventud! ¡Juventud! ¡No hay absolutamente nada en el mundo excepto la juventud!